


Weapon of Choice

by Astor Revem (kulturindustrie)



Category: JoJo no Kimyouna Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Joestar Family, Spies & Secret Agents, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kulturindustrie/pseuds/Astor%20Revem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thousands of iterations will come and thousand have already passed. Joestar blood recirculates like an ouroboros and yet again begins a new bizarre adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Briefcase full of Nothing

It’s two o’clock. The sun watches over the airport runways like a strict father. A vision of it makes Josie’s forehead drip in salty sweat. It’s always like this when she comes to Dubai, the city out of some ludicrous fantasy book. Highest tower in the world, artificial islands, something out of the imagination of a rookie sci-fi writer. This airport is astoundingly huge, probably the biggest in the whole world. A titan made of glass, metal and oil gold. An island of light. Suits the city very well. Yet making sarcastic and witty mental remarks is not the current objective of Josephine. She is in the city doing what she knows the most. Playing spy games. 

This world is ruled by the flow of information. Knowing the progress of knowledge can take you to the highest places, her father Jordan used to say. He had been a journalist since she remembered, always with the camera around his neck and a faithful pen in his pocket. Nothing fancy, he was the most trivial person ever. He died where lived, in the world, taking snapshots and smithing words about every nook and cranny. If there was a war, that’s where Jordan Joestar would be, if there was a disaster, you could place your bets that the coverage was being done by the old Jordie. His jet-black hair would shine with luster against the rubble of some destroyed city as he inspected possible sets for photographs. A real passionate man and awesome father. When it comes about reminiscing Jordan Joestar, Josephine is the best. Following in his footsteps, here she is. Chasing information, keeping tabs on its flow. No camera as her perception is not great like Jordan’s. Only a faithful smartphone and at home the pious notebook. 

She is a journalist for the New York Times officially, but her movements and stories about war entangled her in the underworld of spycraft. The man came into her office offering a huge salary and a high clearance level regarding information. For Josephine this was like a dream, or maybe a deal-with-devil-deal, since it was too good to be true. She kept working in the newspaper and at the same she would be able to tap into the gigantic and beautiful amount of information avaliable only thru the intelligence channels. So here she is, sitting in a purple fluffy chair in the VIP pavillion of the airport. The man, for convinience sake let’s call him Suit, came this time at her while she was doing her morning jogging in the Central Park with a ticket to Dubai and a briefcase. The normal kind of job, acting as a courier for information, not exactly thrilling but nonetheless a gig. A strange briefcase though, purple on the outside and red on the inside with absolutely nothing in it. Of course Suit told her not to open, but Josephine’s curiosity is her worktool, she cannot hold her prying-into-stuff feelings. 

Suit instructed her to wait for a man. Precisely at twelve past two he would present himself with the name Howth Castle Environs. She should give him the briefcase and say a certain phrase which was “give my best regards to Anna Livia”. Josephine presumed it was something from a book, given Suit’s disposition to theatrics. She gazes into the clock, eleven past two. One minute. Her eyes wander all over the pavillion looking for a bizarre character to match the name and the appearance of the briefcase, but seems to her that this idea is kind of stupid since the VIP pavillion comes out as a paradise of nutcases. A huge sheik dressed in gold and black, huge as in wrestler-huge, hugs his two daughters and plays with the frills in their ridiculously pink dresses. Everything here is set as a stage, a perfect location for Suit’s plays. A rich japanese woman smokes her cigarrette pretending to be Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Her faced is frozen with botox and surgeries and her hairstyle blatantly imitating Audrey’s one. Dubai is a fantasy city and carries the distinct mark of fantasy literature, everything is a copy of a copy of a copy, but instead of elves and dwarves we have daughter-loving sheiks and japanese Hepburns. Kitsch is precisely the term that Josephine is looking for.

That’s it. Twelve past two. Here comes Environs or whatever his name is. Not much as she pictured in her mind. He is not very tall, but has proeminent muscle under the suit he is using. An expensive cinder-colored suit, she is thinking Armani, but probably a limited edition or custom-tailored, an experiment in male haute-couture. His skin is olive and slightly tanned, he comes across her as a typical mediterranean, maybe turkish or greek. Small brown eyes, but not squinted. His face is as shut as stone gate and comes off as completely no-nonsense. He sits on the fluffy chair on Josephine’s left. He wears an exclusive Prada tie laced with gold. A very rich man, probably some intelligence powerhouse. Howth Castle just opens his palms over his knees, of course he wants the empty briefcase as fast as possible. Good. This will make things easier. Josephine hands the briefcase and he closes his grip around it. It’s time for her to say the silly phrase.

“Give my best regards to Anna Livia” She feels immensely stupid for saying this. She feels like being toyed by two excessively bookish and pretentious men, but that’s part of the job.

“Yet by a commodius Vicus the briefcase returns to my hands. This is surely a world of recirculation” His voice is soft and deep as an ocean, originating in his lungs and not on the throat, as he finishes his deliver of the sentence he gets up like someone shot by spring. A very strange yet interesting man. Life in the game has its cool quirks. He walks calmly in the direction of VIP gate 6. About to travel in the mode of transportation that made Earth an astoundingly little planet. 

A man runs desperately from gate 6. Fear and loathing fills his eyes. He runs in Howth Castle direction. Josephine sends a sharp look into the scene as the journalist instinct kicks in. The man ceases to run just in front of Howth. His arm moves in a twisted shape and then comes back to normal. A bloody gash tears the fancy Armani and soaks Howth Castle in blood. No weapon is produced, no blade is shown that could open such a tear. Yet he falls into his knees bleeding like a kosher-prepared cow. The scared man watches the whole scene without twitching a muscle. He takes the briefcase containing the desperation in his eyes. Josephine gets up and bolts into the two men. As she comes near the desperate man vanishes from the vision. He fades out into nothingness like he has never existed at all. Josephine opens the ripped shirt and suit. There it is. An enormous gash done by a blade, but no blade was seen. The man tries to speak but the blood coming out of his mouth makes him gag. Using his finger as a brush and his red fluid as a paint and the pristine (not so pristine now) floor as canvas he writes a word. Bow. The word is Bow. Quickly the security will start to gather and the procedures will be done. It’s too late for him and Josephine must flee. She cannot be taken into the legal web concerning this crime. She tries closing his eyes, but Howth Castle spends his last breath to do something. It looks like he has some kind of glass in his right hand, he thursts the glass inside her palm cutting it. His lips form a word. Escape. The guards are coming in faster than she had predicted. She must go or otherwise no more jobs, no more journalism. She lays the body on the floor and runs. Few people have seen her but a great lot of cameras registered her face. Anyway the cameras footage will show the true culprit, so she doesn’t need to worry that much. As she escapes from the pavillion running thru the conspicuous golden door, she raises her finger for a cab and throws herself in. She must go to a different hotel and call Suit. Amends must be made.


	2. Information

Avoiding on purpose the biggest hotels Josephine is looking for a new secure location in which she could contact Suit. The cab strolls through the well-paved streets of the surreal city. Luxury cars come and go in both sides of the road parading the endless prosperity of the middle-eastern pearl. A pearl floating in an ocean of oil and people. It’s only after half an hour with the car running that she notices the piece of material stuck deeply in her palm. A small quantity of blood has dripped while she was thinking. Well, it’s better to remove it, otherwise the bloodspill won’t cease. Big mistake. Josephine starts to pull the strange fragment out when a piercing noise rampages thru her ears. Her vision blurs and a sharp pains emerges from her hand. She throws up on the floor of the car a mix of puke and blood. 

A distinct image flashed before her eyes. Ten different people. Two women, eight men. Around her like a circle, like a ritual. And then another ten, and more ten and even more ten. Different people sharing some similarities, either in their faces or in their bodies. A tall muscular man with black hair, the same black hair filled with luster that her father used to have. The same man with a pompadour seen thrice. The skinny girl with tight pants, a man in sailor clothes, a blonde teenage boy. They kept repeating themselves in different configurations. A spiral stretching upwards into the sky. 

In the moment Josephine regains control of her body she tries to find the fragment of glass or whatever material it was. Gone. Completely Gone. Melt inside her ? She muses. The blood and the puke also gone. The cab once again pure and clean. Yet a cold sensation lingers. Something is wrong, she feels deeply within her chest. Every beat of the heart seems out of tune in the silence of the taxi. 

The phone ringing breaks the sacred silence.

She presses the green button that appeared in the touch screen after seeing the name on it. Suit. He must be really furious and really anxious to call in an unprotected line.

“Josephine, my dear, what the hell happened ? This job was completely bullshit-proof and yet you managed to defenestrate it with utmost style. Tell me what happened. Dubai police is madly on your tail and the Emirates government suspects this was an info smuggling operation. We must find a safe location for you. You raised some serious red flags.” Altough he seems mad, the irritation doesn’t show in the calm and collected voice. Listening to Suit is like listening to a teacher, always lecturing on every basic aspect of life.

“It was not my fault, I assure you. Everything went batshit crazy. Some externality came out of nowhere. It was a strange man, eyes filled with fear, like he was under control of someone. I cannot tell how, but I felt it. This man came running from VIPgate 6 and stopped just in front of your friend Howth. His arm twists for three seconds and then BAM! a bloody ripping happens. I jump into the scene trying to save both Howth and the weird briefcase, but the scared man disappears sooner than I can say jabberwocky. I tried to check if I could apply first-aid but he was already way beyond treatment. Really weird situation, I still cannot make sense out of it, but seems like a high-profile issue. Am I right?” Josephine tries to sound as professional as she can. She must keep it real and cool, that’s what her father would say in a situation like this. 

“Yes, that’s pretty much it. Highest-profile. I’m sorry for bringing you into this maelstrom of madness, but now I need you to stick with me, otherwise I cannot guarantee your safe return. There is a group after the briefcase and this scared man of yours was probably an agent or someone coerced into doing the dirty job for them. An eye of them most certainly was posted in the airport, so we can assume that they know your appearance. With the powers they command it might be easy for them to find you, but let’s focus on the situation. I am going to call an old friend and you must meet him in the Glorious Fountain. I will text you the address after I call him. He will be able to protect and extract you out of the country.” He sounds genuinely determined to help Josephine. Maybe he does feel sorry. In this world it’s always impossible to say.

“Before I turn it off, I gotta tell you something, Suit. Your friend, he did something to me. I don’t know what. He had with him, this strange glass, like a fragment of something and stabbed me, or something like that, with it. Should I be worried about ? I mean, do you even know why he did this ?” Josephine gazes into her palm puzzled. 

“He did what-“ His voice falters for a second “He did what ? He pierced you with something you say ?”

“Yes, looked like the an arrowhead or something. An old native-american or indian object, I’m not very fond of this stuff” 

“That changes everything. Have you experienced anything different ? Like a presence of something ? Maybe something like a spirit or a force.”

“Well, nothing really meaningful, only a sensation of cold and my heart beating out of pace. Unsettling but nothing terrible”

“I’m really sorry for bringing you into this. If I had known. I am terribly sorry”

“Well, then stop being sorry and start explaining me what will happen with me, for a start. Now I am dead serious about knowing, even if it means death”

“No, it’s not death. _Au contraire_ , we can say it’s a new life. He brought forth your _Stand_.”

“My what ?”

“Your _Stand_. A thoughtform, a vision of power. The form of your spirit, your tool of battle and your strength. A representation of your inner force”

“Are you mocking me, Suit ?” Josephine is not exactly sure of what she is listening as this nonsense is being spilt through the phone

“No, I wish I was. Now I am afraid you are involved in our war. Eventually your _Stand_ will show itself revealing its form and name. You should be ready for it. Do not fear, it is a part of you doesn’t matter how it looks.”

“Your war ? All this time I was a proxy soldier in your private war ? This puts everything into figure. All those odd jobs and strange clearances for information, but I guess everything comes at a price. I am going to stick with you, Suit. Like my father told me, I should always stick to friends”

“This friend of mine will be able to explain more about the _Stands_ and what is going to happen, here take this address and have some time at this hotel. Try to keep low-profile and do not leave your room unless strictly necessary. Ok ? Are you following me ?” He addresses his preoccupations with a scholarly tone.

“Ok. I will you do as you told me, but I want to know more. If I am going to side with you, I want to know everything, even things of the highest clearances, deal ?”

“Deal, it’s only fair.”

“Then count Josephine Joestar as one of your soldiers.”

She turns off the phone without hearing Suit’s response. It’s no use. The address is written and it’s not very far. The only avaliable option. Forced into a tight course of action.


	3. Leave your guns at home, son

The hotel named Glorious Fountain adds up to the reputation of absurd and fantasy of the city. Styled like an enormous chinese pagoda he strikes Josephine design guts as something so ridiculous and over-the-top that’s actually pretty cool. There is plenty of gold and crimson all over, on the fringes of each veranda, in the entrance carpet, even the porters dress in these two colors. A radiant heaven of luxury made of blood and gold. As soon as she gets out of the car and pays the cab fare, a porter comes to help her with the bags, but there are none. Her stuff was to be sent to another hotel where she would stay. It would be very unwise to go there now that she was entwined in Suit’s small war. The organization could truly be after her and it would be the first place they would go looking for.

She walks in the reception. At least ten smiles are flashed onto her face, but at least no golden or red ones. The man in the the front desk is a short man with a whiter face than the average of Dubai. His eyes composed of ash-grey and blue. Josephine thinks Iranian from an old money family, but what would he be doing working as an hotel clerk ? He receives her with a smirk, a rare feature in a front desk clerk. For sure, he is something different.

“Welcome, Miss. What this humble servant may provide to you this afternoon ?” His english is easy and without any recognizable accent, a tint of sarcasm pervades his words, although a less sharp person wouldn’t be able to realize it.

“My name is Aleena Chekov, i think there is a reservation under my name” Josephine uses her fake hotel register name, she hopes Suit had remembered to use it.

“Oh, for sure. Miss Chekov. Let me check your room and I seem to have a message for you” He smiles with a whole grin. Josephine starts to suspect this deck of smiles. Everything is already off the track, no carefulness is excessive.

“Here is the card-key, room 805. Mr. Sorel says Mr. Speedwagon will be here by five. He will meet you in your room. I will make sure he finds you.” Mr. Sorel is Suit’s fake name, she knows for sure. With Suit is always some book character name.

“Very well, thank you. Send him up when he gets here” Josephine cuts short the talking. All of his smiling was starting to upset her.

She moves fastly to the room minding Suit’s advice. Let’s reduce exposition to a minimum. As she goes up in the old-fashioned elevator also drenched in red and yellow the same cold feeling she had in the cab comes back. Someone is inside the elevator with her. Floating over and around like a corpse long dead in the sea. She crosses her arms against her breasts trying to protect herself from the icy touch of this strange atmosphere, eyes closed, focus on waiting. Suit said it was not something evil, it was life, it was her Stand.

A sudden beep marks the arrival at the eighth floor. The sensation subsides. She is able to breath normally again. The corridor, thank god, is not filled with the dual color theme of the rest of the hotel. It’s a normal white/grey/khaki pattern that can be found at every hotel on the world. She moves quickly looking for 805. Some tourists ramble around the corridor, but none one could call suspicious. Two old ladies dressed in women business suits. A boy in whose face was written boring all over. Normal as normal could be. There is number 805. She checks the card key and then passes into the wall indentation. A click. The door unlocks. 

Inside, a confortable single room. The mattress over the bed black white like a zebra back. A huge wide screen television equipped with blu ray player, both of them encased in bakelite contraptions to avoid being stolen. A nice bathroom with a golden-framed mirror, a marble white bathtub and a black washbasin. The standard type of luxury one would expect from a Dubai quirky pseudo-chinese hotel. 

Josephine locks the door and searches every nook and cranny for listening and recording devices. None to be found. Suit made a good work. Now she must wait for the Speedwagon guy. It’s a half past three so she has roughly one hour and a half until he arrives. 

Questions start to come to surface in her mind. What is this Stand thing ? Who was Howth Castle and why he had to die ? Which war is being fought between Suit and these illusive characters ? The briefcase seems to connect everything. The ariadne’s thread of this whole situation. Taking a notebook with the hotel brand Josephine starts to draw the situation, at the center the briefcase and the man called Howth Castle Environs who is allied to Suit that employs Josephine and some guy named Speedwagon. The other side has powers enough to coerce or employ a person as a killer. They must be after (and now they have it) the briefcase. She writes repeatedly the word _Stand_ in different handwritings, a practice she got from her mother. It helps to understand the word in a different perspective, she would say. Ever so sweet and thoughtful Tiffany Joestar.

Once again the crushing cold sensation resurfaces. Its grip around Josephine’s heart is absolute. She feels like the temperature of the room has dropped to zero. Dizziness invades. The bed seems made of water. Floating on a cold murky ocean. This cannot be her stand, if it was a part of her it wouldn’t crush her will like this, it must be something else. Her strength slowly fades into inaction. All the body heat erased. 

Bang. She hears something that snaps her out of the cold coma. A figure stands above her. A feminine form made of something like liquid silver. In it’s head two protuding red horns shining. This form wears no clothes but two gun holsters around her chest, but the holsters are empty. Arms crossed in front of the chest in a defensive stance. It seems to be holding an attack. Defending Josephine from something. A further look into the scene shows the exact nature. A cold mist has gathered above Josephine and this silver form is guarding her from the attack. This is her stand. Her guardian force, the thoughtform of her heart. So beautiful. 

_Don’t take your guns to town_. A name crosses her head as she sees the empty holsters. That’s it. Her stand.


	4. Heartbreak Hotel

The silver protector opens its arms pushing the cold, white mist to the other side of the bedroom. Josephine admires the strength and beauty of her stand. A firm and and silver feminine body, now she is able to see the yellow eyes flashing. She has no mouth but it is incredbly expressive. Sparks of a faint glow alternating from pink to green emerge from the liquid metal skin. There is another person in the room, now it’s quite clear. Someone inside of the mist, the taint that tried to drain the life out of Josephine. 

The nemesis reveals its face. A man. Not any man, the cab driver who took her to the hotel. A tiny figure, brown and rat-faced. Small black beads as eyes. She was so absorbed in the situation of the glass and this war business to notice him tailing her. A stupid rookie mistake. He ditches completely the mist cover. A form appears beside him, white and blue rippled stripes, similar to a wavy shroud. Strangely similar to a cloth ghost.

“They didn’t told me you was a stand master. They lie.” Broken english from a scar-like mouth. He gazes at Josephine puzzled. The cloth ghost starts flying around in circles. All the surfaces it touches completely freezes. The door tight coated with an icy wall. Windows frozen solid. The temperature starts going down. 

“Cool Waves close door. Forever dead in ice coffin white woman” A leecherous smile crosses his face. A hint of sadism, understandable in every language known to man. Chills go down Josephine’s spine, but no fear at all. She is with her stand and bound to fight in Suit’s war. Always stick to your friends, Josie. That’s Jordan Joestar for you. A natural understanding between the parts, a spontaneous link. 

“You chose the best day to come freezing me out, you rat” Josephine raises her hand. The stand imitates the movement with acute precision. She pretends to be drawing a weapon from the holster in the right. The speed is not lacking, she had practiced at a firing range, in this line of business shooting is a must have skill. From the palm of the right hand of her stand a sharp ice bolt is launched. Tremendous speed as it crosses the chilled air. The smell of a sudden gush of blood fills the icy atmosphere. The bolt pierced right thru the killer cabbie’s forearm. Flows like a red ocean over the whitened room splashing into the wall behind him. 

The man continues to keep his full-fledged grin. The blood on the walls and in the air is made into red ice spikes. Payback is a bitch. They fly into Josephine’s direction in a speed she cannot escape. She is hit by three spikes before Don’t take your guns to town is able to defend her, two in the left arm, one in her calf. Blood blooms like summer red carnations. An idea flashes on Josie’s mind. Her quick wit is not a single bit diminished by the pain. She crosses the bed and reaches the ice-coated door leaving a blood trail, hoping her enemy will fall into her trap.

The cabbie believes Josephine to be cornered. He patches the hole in his arm with ice and calls forth Cool Waves to freeze her blood trail. She does the gun-drawing movement again. The blood is freezing. By the time it congeals around her leg, a blood bolt is shot from her stand’s left hand, but not into the cabbie. The bolt is shot into the mini-bar. His face is one of astonishment. Knowledge and information are the soul of the battlefield. Right is repulsion. Left is attraction. The mini-bar comes hurling into Josephine. She smiles triunphantly. Spontaneous link. Understanding between the parts. That’s the power of her stand. As she ducks onto the floor the flying mini-bar breaks the ice and crashes the door launching it into the hotel’s corridor. Now there is a way out. Yet her leg is stuck because of frozen blood. No biggie. Blood. Repulsion. Don’t take your guns to town hurls a right hand bolt and Josephine is freed from the icicle grip. As the cabbie tries to form an ice wall to seal the passage again she takes no time. Let’s put those ankles to some movement.

She runs for the corridor trying to find a place with more room to act. He comes after using the ice he had created as a soon to be wall for more spikes. They fly around with sharp edges. She runs to the elevator with the cloth ghost in her trail. The cabbie comes just after. Stand and user. Always together. Entwined by heart. She needs to use this power with intelligence, but the adrenaline of the moment erased her mind. For now she is just running down the corridors of the floor looking for a emergency ladder.

The red door stands at the end. Twenty meters separate the place where she is and the door, but if she is not quick enough this small space will transform itself into a deadly ice trap. An idea crosses the veil of adrenaline. She runs to the fullest. The cabbie and his stand appear at the entrance of the corridor. Left hand gripping the invisible weapon. Door. Attraction. The emergency exit door detaches itself from the wall and comes flying into her. Perfect. She dodges to the left. With the door still on cruise she employs the invisible grip once again. Door. Repulsion. It is sent with double the speed in the cabbie’s track. She is only able to hear the metal slamming on something, either him or his stand. Doesn’t matter, this buys her time to escape. Running downstairs like a zephyr. Seven, six, four, one. She breaks through the entrance hall with a bang scaring the people in the reception. Everyone set their gazes into the bloodied white woman. The security guard start their routine. Woman, blood, noises. It’s an auto-emergency. Her eyes quickly survey the area. The door is across the hall. Magnificent golden and crimson door shaped like the entrance of a chinese temple. Wait. A man is posed in it’s front. A huge blond man wearing a panama hat. Another Dubai weirdo. White suit, white pants, white shoes. In the pocket of the suit a violet unknown flower. A red tie. Not exactly brand models, but fashionable nonetheless. Outdated but stylish. It would fit perfectly in a Cuban casino during the Mafia era. His long hair flows out of the hat. A golden cascade of yarn. Something behind him.

A stand. He is a stand user.

His stand also has a human form, but no discernible eyes, the whole face is filled with a enormous crown. In the middle of this crown a pulsating and bloody ruby. The body seems to be black but completely covered with golden lordly clothes like a king or a prince dressed entirely of the precious metal. 

The time Josephine took to analyze the strange blond man was the time cabbie and his stand used to follow her through the emergency stairs. The cloth ghost comes rambling and dropping the hall temperature by half in two seconds. The cabbie is drenched in blood. The flying door gave him some thinking bruises. Now Josie is between two stand users. Double trouble, as her mother would say, except here it was not applied to her and her brother.

The blond man acquires a battle stance as soon as he sees the entrance of the rippled white and blue piece of cloth. He seems to be experienced in stand combat. He glances at Josephine and then at the cabbie. Then his stance is unmade, he removes his hat and runs to Josephine with a gentlemanly flair.

“Miss Josephine Joestar, I presume.” He carries a deep aristocratic english accent “My name is Johann Speedwagon, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I come in Mr. Brando’s favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cabbie' stand is based on this song - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxbOthiMvzI
> 
> Cool Waves by Spiritualized in the album Ladies and Gentlemen we are floating in space.


	5. The Friends & Enemies of Modern Music

The chitchat is interrupted by a freezing spike that comes slinging through the air. Mr. Whats-his-name Speedwafferson shows military reflexes as he dances out of the flying speck of ice trajectory.

“Let my mate _Lord Gold_ swap this annoying bloody fly” He takes of his hat and throws it towards the murderous cabbie. The white panama flies softly and almost slowly. Josephine is able to track with her eyes each single turn of the flamboyant headpiece. Something strange. The time seems slower. The cabbie’s eyes are also focused on the white revolutions of the hat. This moment of distraction allows the blond man to leap in the air. As the panama finishes it’s eighth movement of rotation, the time begins to flow normally once again, but it’s too late for the cabbie. Speedwaffles falls with both knees over his chest. Josephine is surprised with the sudden change, her head tilts for a split second. The golden stand hovers above with it’s arms and legs open forming a barely-human yellow X. The few costumers that still were on the hall run away after mr.white clothes kneefall. 

The cabbie screams as the golden hands of Josephine’s new companion stand mauls his face. Blood streams all over the face joining the damage already done by the door. The very definition of beaten to a pulp. Yet he refuses to kill, stopping as soons as he faints. Mr. Speedoatlas gets back on his feet and takes an object similar to handcuffs from his pocket. He uses it exactly like handcuffs around the driver’s wrists, but the material seems like glass, too fragile to keep someone under control. Josephine goes near them. The blood from her wounds now seeps thru and the pain sealed in a room of adrenaline now comes rushing. He comes quickly and tends to her.

“I’m deeply sorry for taking so long, Miss. Joestar. I was checking the near areas for signs of Halál men. Turns out they were already here, but Daniel didn’t told me you were a stand user. I might have spoiled the fun of your first battle.” Genuine sorry radiating from someone is a rare thing in Josephine’s line of work, but this Speedwagon character seems indeed a gentleman. She might come to trust him in the future. Maybe.

“I’m afraid we must run now. The police is probably on it’s way and we must retreat and regroup with some friends. Also, Halál people infiltrated on the police will come here to take a look. We need to take the iceman with us. A valuable asset he might come to be”

“Your name is Mr. Speedwagon, right ?” Josephine tries to connect all the information received “You told you came in Mr. Brando’s favor, but I don’t know any Brando”

“Oh, I am sorry. I mean, I forgot it. He told me he presents himself to you as Suit” He smiles as he takes her and the beaten man out of the hotel, each one in one side.

“So his name is Daniel Brando ? Somehow seems fitting for his personality full of references.” Always the necessary Josephine remark.

“I’ll explain everything to you as soon as we reach the safehouse. I must ask you to keep your eyes wide open, my kind miss. Halál scum sometimes rise from the very sand of the desert” Josephines laughs with Speedwagon’s exaggerations. Yeah, she will probably trust him in the future.

“Hold him for a second. I shall call my car.” He opens his hands and fits them together finger by finger. Emerging from his broad chest there is his stand.

“ _Lord Gold Throneroom_ i call you forth” A scent of lavender fills the air, and then roses, carnations, orchids. Josephine feels like she passing thru a wall of flowers. One blink and the street is no more. A fancy room decorated with utmost finesse. Purple, crimson, indigo and white distributed in soothing patterns. Ghastly golden statues wear psychedelically intrincate Prada dresses filled with iridescent arabesques. In the very middle, Josephine presumes, a golden throne. Quite literal, but at the same time fitting.

“Is this a power of your stand ?” Josephine’s curiosity takes no time to kick in.

“Yes, most certainly. My own pocket of existence. Very useful although limited. Two hundred square meters and not a peck of dust bigger. After that just a void, so I always have to use it carefully. It’s a side effect of the main ability of my mate, like I said limited but useful.” He employs the same scholarly tone of Suit. They seem to be real allies if not friends to know each other’s tones like this.

Taking a better look on the fancy room she realizes that besides a strange and fashionable throne room it is also a storage. Weapons, food, some field equipment and a great load of white suits. These two really love these suits of them. On the back part there is the aforementioned car. A beautiful black BMW although Josephine does not recognize the model. He opens one of the doors and drops the knocked-out body of the cabbie in the back, then opens the front door to Josephine accordingly to his gentleman ways. The car smells like flowers as most of the things stored in the room. As soon as he takes the driver seat he touches the clutch with his right foot and once again does the finger connecting movement.

The smell ceases and they are back to the street of the hotel although a little bit distant from the original spot.

“Another drawback of this power. The planet keeps moving while we are in the throneroom. Spending too much time there and we might never come back to Mother Earth.” He says it facing Josephine but at the same time reminding himself of it.

They depart before the buzzes and lights of Dubai police. Travelling in zig-zag through out random streets. They go into the business district and then into a stony beach in the northern outskirts of the city almost penetrating on the desert. Speedwagon wants to shake off possible stalkers. It’s not the safest way of doing it but this will keep the enemy confused with their movements. Josephine’s curiosity is killing her, after almost one hour and a half of silence she cannot take it anymore.  
“Mr. Speedwagon, these handcuffs are too fragile. Won’t he break easily out of them ? They’re made of glass.” Josephine deliver the words quickly in an almost confusing fashion, her journalist part is taking the best of her

“You can call me Johann, Miss Joestar, and no, he won’t be able to break it. These chaps are Mr. Brando’s pet project. The handcuffs are made of glass, you are right, but this glass is tempered with the Arrow glass. They are capable of sealing Stands. It’s necessary tool in our war.” Tools of war. A war in which Josephine is now deeply involved.

“Arrow as in the arrowhead that pierced my hand ? It’s very strange, Giving us powers beyond comprehension” She muses while looking to the buildings that pass outside of the window. A flash is seen. Josephine focus her eyes at the distance. From the top of a crossing bridge near the end of the road they are cruising thru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johann Speedwagon's stand is based in the song Lord Gold Throneroom by HORSE the band
> 
> \- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTRcZwPbhUc


	6. Folsom Prision Blues

    Josephine's eyes are not quick enough to catch a glimpse of the future. A thin beam of light breaks through the window and hits the downed cabbie. A precise, clean-cut, almost artistic headshot. His closed eyes open all of a sudden as if trying to escape from the head. Both Speedwagon and Josie look back somewhat baffled by the sudden event and so they can see a perfectly round hole on the forehead. The rat-faced man is no more, they fear.  
  
 "This is Hálal, one hundred percent Hálal work. No regard for their companions, shameless monkeys" Speedwagons cheeks are flushed with anger. A man as gentlemanly as him is easily shaken when it is a matter of trust. He adjusts the white panama hat over his blonde locks, Josephine thinks this must be some sort of indication of decision. If he is mad, then it is a good time to make questions. There are no secrets when someone is mad, said Daddy Joestar. Sometimes Josephine wondered how her father came up with such acute affirmations, well, sometimes people have a certain flair with words and he was one of those.  
  
 "Mr. Spee - I mean Johann. What are these people? Why you and Suit, Brando or whatever his name is, are fighting a war against them?" She lowers her head while the words come out of her mouth still agape. The sniper must still be on the prawl, so it is better to keep heads down for the time being.  
  
 "They are Hálal. Deathmongers. As an intelligent journalist, i presume you know about the existence of private military contractors, am i right?" He asks politely while projecting his golden partner as barrier over his head.  
  
 "Of course, i made a piece on one of those, tough business, real shady stuff, government connections within third world countries, CIA overseeing of illegal operations, it is an endless labrynth of plausible deniability. Precisely the kind of information that i am very fond of" Josie smiles as the conversation flows into the world of prying-into-other-people-business.   
  
 "It's no doubt why Danny chose you as our courier. Right on the spot, miss. Well, Halál, they are one of those, but far more sinister. As you see there is  more in the world than meet the eye. Forces of the mind and of the body that are within our control. It was just a matter of time until someone took and used it as a weapon in the war business. Hálal transformed Stand users into weapons, even though normal people are not able to interact with them, the abilities provided surpass by far one of a regular trained soldier."  
  
 He drives carefully in the well-maintained roads of Dubai looking for an alternative way for the safehouse. These men-made-weapon are out there somewhere looking for them, pawns in a game that Josephine still doesn't comprehend very well. Is she a pawn too? Suit, or she should say Daniel Brando, was he the player? Or was anybody above him pulling gentle strings to push further some hidden agenda? Questions are the natural state of Josephine's mind. They come like water flowing out of a spring. She misses for one second the presence of a notebook where she can practice her thinking routine.   
  
 "We will be there soon. Keep your eyes open for we might be ambushed once again. This situation might morph into a war of attrition and this would be terrible for the likes of us." His tone goes deadly serious, no more of the gentleman, no more of the charming, only a dry advice. As if she needed one more sign of a starting war.  
  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
  
There is no visible moon when they cross the gargantuan doors. Safehouse is an ironic name. The place is located in the most conspicuous place that could be conceived in this fantasy cliche city. The Burj Khalifa. An white elephant of iron and glass. Speedwagon and Josephine wait for the elevator in the second sky lobby. She takes a peek out of the window, seventy-five stories high. Mixed feelings cross her mind, a sensation of awe that is at the same time disgusting. Yet they are going higher. The safe apartment is located on the one hundred eighth floor. A sharp electronic tone indicates the arrival of an elevator, there are at least ten on this enormous hall. The place acts as a connection within the building. Connection, attraction, these words exert some power over Josie. They are her realm and also Don't take your guns to town realm.  
  
 These flights of fancy are interrupted by Speedwagon that cleans his throat inside of the elevator. She was off for ten seconds, it seems. They must go up, they must arrive at a safe spot to put broken backs and wounded legs to rest. The elevator plays a muzak version of  _Hear my train a Comin'._ Jimi Hendrix transformed into something else, something warped. Speedwagon circles his eyes around. Josephine knows that he is also shaken by the twisted song. She reminds of those days in Long Island by the beach. Her father photographing her brother and her, both with slender Joestar legs. A memory of her father wearing a funny red and white Speedo. Her memory goes even farther. She is wearing a pink frilly dress, the dress is drenched into something wet. Tears? No. What is this? I don't remember this. The frillies become small snakes. No, i don't remember this. What the fuck is happening? Josephine sidethinks. The snakes are biting her arms. My arms. Sharp sting pains all over the legs. Snake bites. Numbness. Memories that become something real. Fading into black


	7. Bedlam

    There she is, lying in the sandy beach. Dirty feet and ragged frilly dress. Snake bites all over her tanned skin. Tiny red circles turning ever so slowly into purple. The poison is already circulating and in recirculation. These snakes weren't biting their own tails. Josephine is half child, half adult. Her head is too big for the diminute body, the legs too slender for an adult woman torso. A pastiche, an imitation of Josephine assembled from random parts. The sand again, rubbing against and within the gashes in the dress. Unconfortable, everything is ultimately unconfortable. Her black hair is short on the back and long on its front, amalgam of the various possibilities that had occurred within her time span. Then there is the sky, tinges of grey and pink distributed in layers one over the other, no clouds, only the colorful pair of an afternoon's ending. The sea is breaking against the coast, she thinks the tide must be low, otherwise she would have already been washed out to the pelagic dungeons of the sea. Wait. When she became such a person? A person that uses expressions like pelagic dungeon in her innermost thoughts? That for sure is not Josephine.   
  
   This is Josephine's body. She is sure of it, even though transformed into a grotesque version of it. A clashing of different times.   
  
  
Eyes.  
  
    There are eyes everywhere. Every grain of sand is a microeye, the sun a gargantuan and feverish yellow eyeball, the stones that emerge from the wet sand shaped in the form of rough sculpted eyes. All of them facing Josie. Measuring her, peering, gazing, trying to violate the privacy of her mind. Where am i? A question is formed somewhere. Elsewhere. Voices try to force their way but they fade. Why so many eyes? Another question. Pieces connecting. Is this a memory? Must be. Yet there is something wrong, something twisted like the song that was being played in the elevator.   
  
    The man comes walking with unhuman grace. Jet-black hair, red and white speedo, muscles carved deep in a strong body, a confident smile plagued by a little bit of sorrow apparent in the cheeks. Camera in his right hand, a finger over the trigger. Is it a weapon, father? What are you going to do with this?    He comes near deformed Josephine and points the shutter at her head, touching the lens right over her forehead. A cold thump. His smile melts into a gloomy smirk.   
  
  The button is pressed.  
  
Words echo. It is her father's voice from a distance, but a film of insanity covers his usual tone.  
  
   "Hay mi hija no me llores, porque yo te quito de esta cruz, a noche te vi caminando sin la alma de tu cuerpo en los brasos sin luz"  
  
Josephine takes some time to realize that he was not speaking his usual east coast english, but a strange accent of spanish. Everything is unconfortable. The sand is still hot and running through all the notches in her body. Nobody is there, a scent of carnelians and pyrite. Her body is moving upwards very fast.  
  
A sharp electronic sound.  Once again in the elevator, no sand, at least not here. Mr. Speedwagon is looking at her seemingly amused. His gentleman mode is once again activated.   
  
 "This is our security system"   
  
 Josephine's puzzled face makes him laugh. A deep sincere laugh. She prefers him that way.


End file.
